Story of the Night

It was a mid-August night in the big city. Things were on as usual, and bums were pacing neighbourhoods as if they had known them forever. A few stars shone like tiny spots on a velvet curtain. It was biting too, and the wind seemed as if it moved right through you, rather then around you. In the park, fallen leaves of autumn danced around like light in a crystal maze, and plastic bags travelled through the night without purpose. Needless to say, it was desolate, yet the romance was there.

Amongst the semi-distant sounds of automobiles, and old, broken man waned his way through a broken locality. His tortured feet heaved his rackety legs along with a definite purpose. True, he was too old for the chase, but this was one race he had to run. Slowly, yet with resolve, this man moved along, like an elephant who knows it’s going to die. There was no conspiracy here, no ulterior motive. This mans sole purpose was to live a little longer, either that, or die a little easier. It is true, if you get sick, either you get well, or you die. There’s no third option for nobody.

His face was a mass of spaghetti lines, each engraved with a memory of its own. Some distant, some not so. His mouth was dry, yet firm, and his chin showed that he had often known what he was doing. His eyes were dim with wear, and his brow seemed locked in a philosophical fall out with destiny. He was arched so low it seemed he was hunchbacked. But a closer look revealed that he was probably quite tall when he was young.

Although now in tatters, his clothes did show a distinct sense of style. Whether stolen or purchased, his once-expensive overcoat was of the finest wool, and the rags he wore underneath a double-breasted, six button suit. His shoes had holes in them, which must make him very uncomfortable in the sudden chill that settled on him.

Every time he took a step forward he winced in pain, and groaned with irritation. It seemed an eternal distance to walk, but it was something he had to do.

At last he reached the main thoroughfare. The old man just smiled to himself. The world moves with such mechanised deliberation, and such frantic cruelty that they don’t realise the only person they’re killing is themselves. They forget that in the ultimate pursuit of ambition, nothing is left human anymore.

The old man crossed the street, but he was heaving heavily now. The tall buildings, the cleaner streets, the still more expensive suits and the dearth of utter humanity in the official district was strangling him. He needed to feel human emotion to survive, and here that was rare. He moved along slower now, but strangely with more conviction. Although it was late, there were still people working in the tall glass buildings. It was outside one such building that he felt he couldn’t take it anymore. He fell absolutely short of breath, and the wheezing in his chest became considerably more pronounced. His vain attempts at breathing were mere pebbles being crushed under a mighty waterfall. He was dying.

The people inside the building noticed this old man, and rushed out to see if there was something they could do for him. Beautiful people, lovely, young people. Rich people. They all rushed out to help this poor bum who was dying on the street outside their tall glass building. As he fell to the floor, he heard their compassionate calls, ‘what is wrong with you? Tell us, we will help you.’ They asked. But there was nothing they could do. There was nothing anyone could do. Then an old woman came out of the building. She was tall and graceful. She was rich, popular and took everything she desired. She knew who the old man was. She knew what was wrong with him.

With gentleness, and politeness she made her way through the small, helpless crowed that had gathered there. She made her way to the middle of the circle, and knelt down before the old man. She lifted his head up and rested it on her leg. Then she spoke to him. She said nothing in particular, just that she was tired too, and asked him whether he knew she loved him. Loved him like the stars love the night, so they cannot live without it. Like the heaven loves the earth, and so looks down lovingly upon it. Like the rose loves martyrdom, so it stands tall, waiting to be plucked. She said this while caressing his hair, and touching his face, as a tear rolled down the old mans dry cheeks, and he opened his eyes.

Just like charity, the old man smiled. For the first time in many years, he opened his eyes. For the first time in many years, there was something worth seeing. He spoke softly, ‘How long has it been, Shez? But I knew . . . and look, destiny brought me to you.’

The old woman just laughed, and gently caressed his unshaven face. ‘Only eleven years, Fahd. And have you forgotten already, that I don’t believe in destiny?’

With that the old man closed his eyes again, but not with disdain. He was used to pushing one last time, and one last time he gathered his strength, and tried to get up. The old woman helped him, and supported him with one arm across his waist. As she struggled with him towards the building. He stopped her. ‘No, not here. Take me there.’ He said. ‘Where? Oh!’ The old woman seemed to understand.

As she helped him into her car, someone from the crowed asked, ‘Who is he? Who is this man?’ The old woman turned around with sadness in her eyes and said, ‘He is me.’

***

As Shez drove her car through the city, she moved from the rush infested main districts to the suburbs, where silence ruled all. Fahd was resting next to her, almost faint in the passenger seat. Once in a while he opened his eyes to see where they were going, and with relief, shut them again. His breathing was getting back to normal, which wasn’t really much in the first place. The streetlights shone like lasers on his leathery face, and the insinuating darkness altered between light as they drove through places long forgotten. Shez didn’t notice all this, she couldn’t remember the last time she did. Once the old man opened his restless eyes and looked at her. She was still the same. Killing her emotions was her favourite pastime, and she had already perfected her hobby.

‘You still believe that, don’t you, Shez? That you cant succeed if you are emotional.’ He asked.

‘And you still don’t understand how this world works, do you, Fahd?’ was her only reply. She looked straight on, without glancing at him.

‘Look at yourself, Shez, look what you have become. You’re a machine, a gadget. Something that fits in a larger gadget. You’re useless on your own.’

Shez just laughed, ‘Look who’s talking . . . at least I have a car’. Fahd smiled.

‘Do you remember when we first met. . .’, asked Fahd, ‘. . . at that art gallery? You were sitting inside reading a book . . .’

‘You saw me from the outside and you couldn’t resist coming in, could you, you sicko.’ Shez interrupted.

‘Hey. . .’ croaked Fahd, his voice like a dusty piano, ‘I still maintain that you could only see one way through that glass.’

‘Yeah, yeah, come off it.’ Shez shook her head. ‘In any case, here we are.’

She slowed her car down at an intersection and eased to the right. She had come all the way across town to a bridge over a river. This was the place he had meant.
Both of them stepped out of the car, Shez lightly, with grace and sophistication, moved out first and opened Fahd’s door for him. She held his hand to help him out, but shook it off. ‘I’m not a cripple.’ He said.

A moment later they were standing leaning over the low stone wall overlooking the water. This bridge had a life of its own. To most it was just pieces of solid rock joined together by metal bars, but it was something more to Shez and Fahd. The cold, smooth stone, easily a hundred years old talked to them sometimes. It beckoned and called, and it was cruel. It asked them to visit irrespective of the weather, of cold or heat. Even the frost that sometimes crusted the heads of the gargoyles spaced unequally at every few paces had a personality. The pondering gargoyles, creatures of the night, frozen in time as if by magic, cursed by eternity to witness human frailty and illogic. They were sad too, but they were also angry. With razor sharp, stone made claws they would be ready to pounce, striking fear into the heart of anyone who dared to desecrate their resting place. Yet they did not move. Among them was their leader. Shez called him Fahd, because he was constantly thinking about something. With his head resting on his fist, and strong, naked legs folded underneath his body, he reminded her of him. She looked at the gargoyle for a little while, and then looked away. It brought back too many memories. But she smiled.

‘How’ve you been, Fahd?’ she asked.

‘Like a pinacolada. Cold and bitter-sweet.’ He replied. Shez laughed.

‘You haven’t lost your suicide sense of humour, I see.’ Her eyes gleamed.

‘Oh, yeah, suicide jokes, the kind you hear and you want to kill yourself.’ He smirked. ‘It hasn’t really been that bad, actually. I’ve grown old, I’m dying of something I’m afraid to know, but I’m still happy.’

‘Ah, the eternal happiness. You’re devastated, and still you don’t get sad, how do you do that?’ asked Shez, ‘and don’t tell me it’s because you’ve kept away from worldly temptations.’

‘No, that’s not it. You can never be happy if you abstain from something you want deep inside, it’s unnatural. You can only be happy if you’ve accepted your situation. Whatever I have, it’s not going anywhere. Hey, when rape is inevitable, enjoy it!’ He replied.

Shez laughed again. She looked down at the water. It was dark. So was the sky. A cloud of blankets had enveloped the atmosphere, and the full moon seemed like milk spilt over a woolly fabric. Shez loved looking at the sky. it gave her hope somehow. ‘Nah . . .’ she thought, ‘these people, they delude themselves by trying to feel nature. It’s very nice to look at, but . . .’

‘It’s useless in practical life?’ interrupted Fahd, as if reading her thoughts. ‘I know you so well, you can’t escape from me.’ He said with a grin. Then he coughed, and coughed a little more.

‘You’re getting sick, you know, we should get you checked up by a proper doctor.’ Shez said. She was genuinely concerned. This was someone she had known all her life.

‘We’ll see, it’s not a priority at the moment . . .’ said Fahd, raising his hand to stop Shez from reacting. He continued, ‘I see you’ve done very well for yourself. You’ve really grown from that twenty-something girl I met so long ago. You were so naïve then, and you are still.’

‘What makes you say that, old man? I’ve worked very hard to get where I am. I told you then, and I’ll tell you now. You need to be practical in order to get somewhere in life. Can’t depend upon emotions to make you or break you. That’s too unpredictable.’ She spoke fast. She always did when she felt strongly about something. ‘I remember . . .’ she went on, ‘when you were applying for your first job, and you came running to me when they hired you. You silly boy, you were the naïve one. Why do you always have to speak your mind? It wasn’t your problem whatever they sold. You were their human resource guy, not their fairy godmother, for God’s sake.’ She turned and looked at him, ‘I also remember when they fired you. You still owe me for letting you stay over, since you lost the rooms they gave you.’

‘You should be the one paying me, Shez. Have you forgotten how dirty your place was? I lost a shoe in your toilet once and had to bring in outside help just to find it. I even thought of opening a garments store in there!’ Fahd said.

‘Ah, what’s the use?’ asked Shez, sighing, ‘We’re a couple of indeterminate bachelors. Old people who are alone . . . the worst kind.’ She shook her head.

‘You could move in with me, Shez, if you want. I have a nice little garbage can all to myself at the corner of Shahbaz and Bokhari. I have a small stray cat, you could sleep in the corner with her.’ The old man coughed as he spoke, but his eyes twinkled.

‘Shut up, old man, and get moving, it’s getting cold now. We have much to talk about, you and I, and there’s no escape. Jeez, I should be paid for this, I keep taking you in whenever you get yourself into trouble.’ Shez said, with considerable decisiveness in her voice.

‘Aww, go to hell, I’m not moving in with you. I live with the city, I live with my first love. I don’t expect you to understand, you not believing in emotions and all. Just try it once, just close your eyes and breathe in. Look around you, the clouds, the river, and the lights. I can see something you can’t. Your eyes, they’re shining like Paris after the war. The wind in your hair and the smell of nothingness. The silence that settles even on the busiest street in the dead of the night. You can’t have that unless you open up. You can’t have that unless you’re me.’

‘You’ve made your point old man . . .,’ Shez smiled at him, raised her hand and touched his face lovingly, ‘I’m not taking you in for charity, I need you too. Come on, get in the car, or I’ll have to throw your body into the water if you die. Come on, it’s been so long, we have too much to talk about.’

They walked back towards the car. Fahd was feeling better. He wasn’t really sick, in the real sense of the word. He just absorbed too much for his own good. Shez was like his electron. She negated whatever he felt, so it was easier to deal with. They had known each other forever, and they loved each other more than any family ever could. Love sometimes transcends even romance. It moves beyond man and woman, here and now. It’s a bond that ties you to someone so hard, that even if you aren’t together it doesn’t matter; you carry each other around with you no matter where you go. It creates a bond so strong you don’t even have to speak to make the other person understand what you’re talking about. They just look at you and know. This love is so strong, that it’s only allowed once at any given time in this universe. Its only when both die that two other people are allowed to join like that. But in the end it is hope that drives us all forward. Hope that the love we have is the one. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. In the end, the hope becomes almost as beautiful as the love. Almost as strong. In the end, when all is said and done, all you need is someone to look at you and say, ‘he is me’.